Appearances Can Be Deceiving
by GayAssTrash
Summary: Natasha was at a bar. She'd been drinking with Tony and Clint, but Pepper'd had to collect the two when they got too drunk. A group of meninists then walked into the same bar, and started hitting on Natasha. Slightly OOC. TW/Sexual Assault Attempt, TW/Alcohol (I won an award for this)


_**A/N: (You can skip the first paragraph) I know that it has been literally a year since I've posted anything, but as always I have excuses. This year, so much shit happened. I came out, got shit for it, tried to write, but failed to finish anything. Seriously, in the past nine months, I've started (and abandoned) like 5 fics. But, I'm currently actually writing another one besides from this right now ^-^. It's gonna be a Phanfic, and I've got 1.3k words of a first chapter already finished, so I should start posting that soon. Yay! UwU**_

 _ **NOTES: If dialogue seems awkward, it's because it is and I couldn't use swears. Also, TRIGGER WARNINGS: Attempted Sexual Assault, Alcohol.**_

 _ **I'll leave now, so enjoy!**_ **:)**

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Natasha Romanoff has not lived an easy life. Born in USSR Russia, she trained as an assassin since childhood. She was involved in the Red Room - a Soviet assassin training facility, disguised as a ballet center. There she received a version of the Super-Soldier Serum, making her the Russian equivalent to Captain America. Enhanced by biotechnology, made resistant to disease, aging, and heals faster than the regular human being. She was a living weapon.  
She was an experiment. A lab rat of the Soviet Union. Goodness knows how terribly wrong it could've gone. Of course, there was still _very_ negative effects. The Red Room graduation took away the only thing that could get in the way of assassination. She was sterilized.

She much preferred to not think about it. It was useful that the biotech made her suppress the bad memories. She hated that she could never have children. It made her feel so broken. She felt like a monster.  
She was noticed by _S.H.I.E.L.D_ a few years back. They sent an agent to eradicate her, and ended up recruiting her. That was when she gave up her Russian name. Natalia, it was.  
So, she did her work for _S.H.I.E.L.D_ as she was asked. She went on missions, defeated enemies, interrogated people, went undercover and fought for the Earth's well being. Without showing any emotions or weaknesses, just as she was taught, all those years ago.  
One problem that just wouldn't go away, no matter what, was sexism. She was often misinterpreted as weak, because of her sex and petite frame. She'd heard more comments about how 'incapable' she is because she's a girl than she could count. It was agonizingly idiotic.

Sexism was a constant battle for Natasha. However, her feminine appearance was also a great weapon of hers. Her deceiving looks masked her practically unbeatable assassination skills. But, it also caused _a lot_ of trouble in Natasha's life.

Just like right now.

Natasha was sitting by herself in a bar. She had arrived earlier with Tony and Clint, but Pepper had had to pick up the drunken pair an hour ago. They had been quite the sight - stumbling out the door, leaning against each other for balance. She loved to make fools of the boys, but it was even better for them to do it themselves.

She had drank roughly as much as them, but the Red Room's biotech from all those years ago made her considerably more resistant to alcohol. She was still slightly under its influence, though.

She ordered herself another drink - who knows how many she'd had already - and smacked a twenty dollar bill onto the counter. The bartender got her the drink without a word, much to her appreciation. Whatever judgements he'd made of her were politely kept to himself. As he slid her drink and change across the counter, a group of men walked in.

There were around 8 or 10 of them. They ranged in age from their mid-twenties to their early-thirties. They were a loud, rowdy group, and Natasha suspected that they were already drunk. They seemed the kind of men who women did their best to avoid on the New York streets. The man in front wore a t-shirt that had "Meninist & Proud" written on it. Natasha rolled her eyes.

Meninists are a group of men, founded on the internet, who do nothing in terms of productivity. The only job of a meninist is to aggressively disagree with feminists. Natasha had had quite some encounters with meninists. None of them had left in as good condition as they had come in. Of course Natasha called herself a feminist. Why shouldn't she? She was a better assassin than any man ever could be.

The men tripped through the door, and eventually managed to sit at the bar. The one with the meninist t-shirt sat on the barstool next to her, earning an immature "ayy" sound from the others. Natasha swore to herself in Russian.

The group chattered obnoxiously among themselves, and stared at her lewdly. They dared each other to talk to her, like she was some pitiful teenage triumph. Eventually the man wearing the meninist t-shirt took the responsibility onto his wide shoulders. She swore again.

She took in his whole body. He was around 5'9", of average weight, not necessarily strong-looking. Good. She could, quite easily, beat him in a fight if all went south. She glared up at him, and say that he was smirking down at her. It was a smirk that said " _I own you"_. A smirk that no one should ever be given. There was hunger in his eyes, too. Not physical hunger, something… _else_. It wasn't as attractive as he seemed to think; it just served to make her yet more irritated.

"Tell me, what's a helpless young lady like you doin' in a bar this late, all alone?" He asked, attempting to flirt with her. His eyes were fixated on her breasts for the whole time. His words were slurred, a sign of his drunkenness. She sighed, then turned away from him. She didn't have to show respect to someone who couldn't even direct his eyes to hers. Her turn caused a chorus of booing from all of the men.

"Aww, don't be like that!" He whined, retaining his possessive smirk.

"If I _must_ tell you," She snapped, turning to face him, "I was out with a couple of friends. But they drank too much. So one of their wives picked them both up. Now, If you'll excuse me, I'm _trying_ to finish my drink!" She quickly resumed her stoic, neutral expression. All the men were aghast, except for the one next to her. He looked even more aroused, which made her swear for a third time.

"Woah! Little lady's _feisty_! I like that in a girl…" His hand roamed to her legs. The action was so unexpected. She hadn't been touched like that in _years_. She'd _never_ been treated with such vulgar, cheap "appreciation". She didn't know how to react. She just sat there, motionless and shocked.

The other men wolf whistled at them, which Natasha barely heard. Her thoughts were going a mile a minute. She didn't know what to do. And she _always_ knew what to do.

"I know you want it…"He said in a breathy, "seductive" voice. His breath smelled heavily of alcohol. His left hand continued to slowly move up and down her thighs. He put his other hand on her waist, right where she'd been shot last week. She flinched away immediately.

The pain hit her like a bus, and she was snapped out of her daze. She realized what was going on. And she didn't like it.

Everything seemed to happen all at once. At one second, his hands were on her body without her consent, and at the next she flipped him onto the ground. The others sat frozen at the bar, too stunned to do anything. Natasha kicked him in the side three times. Hard. He moaned loudly in pain.

She gave him one last kick for good measure, before saying "Did _you_ like being violated? I didn't think so. Maybe next time, you'll have some _respect_. And _decency_. And who knows? Maybe this'll teach you not to make judgements from looks."

One of his friends muttered something that sounded a lot like "psycho witch". She replied with the most deathly glare the man had ever received.

 _ **Boy**_ _, am I gonna have a good time tellin' everyone about this_ , she thought. She apologised to the bartender for the "unfortunate events", as she had called them, finished her drink, and strutted out of the bar.

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 _ **A/N II: I wrote this for the annual "Medal Essay" competition in my school, and it won! I think this is SO MUCH better than my last year's entry, even though it could be better. I know that these aren't Natasha's expected reactions, and it's a bit out of character, but it added context, so I wrote it that way anyways. I hope you like it! Send me your feedback! uwu**_


End file.
